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<title>Sasha James Kills The Stranger With The Power Of Friendship (And A Gun) by beck_no_othy</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242126">Sasha James Kills The Stranger With The Power Of Friendship (And A Gun)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beck_no_othy/pseuds/beck_no_othy'>beck_no_othy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eye aligned Sasha, Graham Folger Lives, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sasha James Lives, Stranger-typical yikesness, all the not-them victims are alive, am i just projecting onto graham? yes 100 percent, no guns are present in the narrative the title is a joke, or write in general, this is going to get sad (;, very sexy of me to think i can write long fics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:42:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,703</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beck_no_othy/pseuds/beck_no_othy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sasha James doesn't come back from Artefact Storage, she doesn't die. Instead, she's sent to another version of London, one that's hostile and strange.</p><p>And Sasha is not alone in Other London.</p><p>Graham Folger has been alone for a decade now. He's coping.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Graham Folger &amp; Sasha James</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sasha James Kills The Stranger With The Power Of Friendship (And A Gun)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>aw yeah bitches first chapter. theo if youre reading this heres the graham/sasha friendship content ive been teasing</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Sasha James hated anything in this world, it was Artefact Storage. From the decades-old dust coating the metal shelves to the horrible feeling in her chest, the whole place was ridiculously claustrophobic. Add the near-petrifying feeling of being watched, and the ongoing Prentiss attack, and Sasha was more than on edge. She was stumbling through the shelves, trying to be fast while avoiding tripping as she made her way to the fire systems on-switch. Even with the torch, it was hard to get all the way to the back without getting lost. Sasha found the switch or lever or whatever you could call it and pulled down. Sasha could hear the CO2 going off in the main building, and breathed a sigh of relief. She was going to make her way back towards the better lit and far less scary Institute when she heard a scraping on the wall behind her.</p><p>“Who’s there?” she yelled out, louder than intended. Of course, now she’d be hearing weird noises in Artefact Storage. “I know you’re there!” There was an all too long moment of almost dead silence, save for the handheld tape recorder in her other hand. Sasha almost hated the near-silence more than the strange noise. Her eyes must have been playing tricks on her, because she swore she saw long shadows on a far wall, faint with the dim light. More scratching. The shadow moved as the noise came from the dark shelves.</p><p>Hmm. Don’t like this.</p><p>Sasha could have sworn she saw movement. A flash of something. Something pale. More noise. Sasha almost thought she could hear breathing. Breathing that wasn’t hers. </p><p>“Who’s there! Show yourself!” Sasha was frantic. Something was wrong. She turned quickly, searching for what stalked her. What stood behind her was shrouded in the awful, choking darkness. Her torch barely shone on the sickly, bony, elongated, well, they had to be legs. What else could they have been? Sasha stepped back. Whatever this thing was, it stepped forward.</p><p>“Who are you?” She cried, hoping this thing wouldn’t answer. It kept stalking towards her, faster now. It couldn’t have been walking, no one in their right mind would call what this thing did walking. “I know you’re there! Answer me!” Sasha got the feeling she wouldn’t be fast enough.</p><p>“I see you!”</p><p> </p><p>If Graham Folger hated anything in this world, it was the whole lot of it. His flat, or what should be his flat, was Wrong in ways he couldn’t place. The streets he thought he knew all too well were Off, and London had become some sick labyrinth. Cafes, where he would’ve gotten food, were hostile in some way, and the food was never food. And the sky, that stupid fucking sky. No clouds, no obvious day or night, just a dark red a little too bright to be the color of blood. You just know your life sucks when you wish the sky looked like blood. At least then, Graham could convince himself that this was Regular Christian Hell, and not Weird Fucked Up Not-London Hell. The worst part of all though was the emptiness. No people. Not anywhere. You’d see shadows that may be a human person, but once you get close it’s just a fucked up lamp post. Graham was not a very social person, but London of all places being devoid of life was a degree too much. As he walked down the middle of the empty road for what felt like the millionth time, which it probably was, he found himself staring up at that not-quite-blood red sky. It was that damn sky’s fault that he hated red. Everything was tinted red, presumably because of it. Graham Folger used to like red. Not his favorite, but not unpleasant. But now? Fuck red. He walked past buildings, red after red. If this Not-London wasn’t Hell, it was pretty god damn close.</p><p>Graham Folger was in Weird Fucked Up Not-London Hell for who knows how long. With no obvious night or day cycle, time didn’t seem real anymore. It didn’t help that his face didn’t change or age. His hair wasn’t growing, just getting messier and messier. When a comb could have glass shards or god forbid Actual Human Teeth instead of the weird tooth things, it was not worth the risk. But his dark circles were getting worse, which was a treat and a half. He didn’t really care anymore. Both his physical and mental health had to be pretty withered by now. Lord knows he wasn’t the most sound of mind. He’d almost convinced himself that he wasn’t real once, which was not his proudest moment. </p><p>He kept walking, occasionally turning corners to spice things up a bit. Graham found himself walking past a tall, strange building. He used it as a landmark early on, because it wasn’t red. It was regular, dusty brown brick. The glass in the windows, probably ornate and classy in Regular London, were warped and almost crossed out, like a cartoon-y X over an eye. Dark vines covered the building, stopping anyone from getting in, or maybe, out?</p><p>What even was this place? Why is it different?</p><p>Curiosity seized Graham as he tried to find a usable entrance. It had been a while since last trying to break into this place. And then he had a thought. The type only desperate men get in their least lucid hours.</p><p>“Worth a shot.” Graham had sized up the vines before, but never had the courage to try climbing them. But, when you’re maybe dead, you can’t die again, right? Now, Graham Folger was not a stupid man. One could even describe him as pretty clever. But every smart person has those moments that make you question, are they really even smart? But no one was around to question Graham, so up he climbed. He got to a window that was less covered by vines and managed to pull them away without falling. The window had hinges on it and didn’t seem to be closed tightly.</p><p>God, I hope this window opens inward. </p><p> </p><p>	It was dark. Too dark. Sasha couldn’t feel anything. Was she anywhere? Was she dead? It wasn’t until Sasha felt her arms get tired that she realized she was holding them up, protecting her head against whatever that thing was. Sasha cautiously opened her eyes. Whatever that thing was, it was gone. Did she just stress-hallucinate some horrible monster? Did her paranoia really get the better of her like that? Adrenaline can be a bitch like that, but was she that afraid of Artefact Storage?</p><p>	“Hello? Is anyone there?” No response. Thank god. Sasha bent down to pick up her torch when she realized how silent it was. No tape recorder buzzing. She must have dropped it in her panic, and it turned itself off. She’d rather check up on the others than find it, so she speed-walked towards the exit. As she wandered through the cold room, she noticed some things were missing. Like the red calliope. It was large and brightly colored, so it would be hard to miss. It wasn’t there. Like a strange mask, gone from its case.  Little bits and bobs, just missing. But Sasha had more pressing matters to attend to than vanishing relics. And also, quite frankly, she did not care.</p><p>	Once Sasha entered the institute proper, she noticed that nothing seemed wrong at all. Other than the building being empty, which was understandable considering circumstances, nothing was amiss. No overturned chairs, askew pictures, or even a trace of worms. Wholly empty, and wholly fine.</p><p>	“Well that’s uncanny,” she said, making an understatement. She had no choice but to check everywhere for a familiar face, from Research to the Staff Lounge, and even to the offices upstairs, where HR and financial consultants did their business. Upon searching every office imaginable, Sasha came to the conclusion that she was alone. One one hand, she was relieved that everyone got out safely, but on the other hand, it was weird being in an empty institute.</p><p> </p><p>	Just Graham's luck, the window did open inwards. But distinctly against Graham’s luck, there was nothing to cushion the impact of falling out of a window onto hardwood floors. He tumbled into the clean, plain office, knocking over and shattering a lamp on his way down. Oh, he was absolutely going to be feeling this later. But! He was in the building! And frankly, he could manage the headache. After the less-than-dignified fall, the whole room was quiet. Graham Folger did not realize how much he loved the quiet. Was there noise before? Had he become so accustomed to whatever noise there might have been that it felt like silence? </p><p>All he could do now was lay on the cool wood floors and start to cry. These weren’t tears of grief, or anger, or academia-related stress, all of which became far too familiar to him. The only tears that fell from the eyes of Graham Folger were tears of joy. He was smiling as he wept, perhaps the first genuine smile in years. He smiled, and laughed, and sobbed, and felt alive for the first time in ages.</p><p> </p><p>	Sasha had checked all the doors and windows on the first floor, hoping one of them wouldn’t be blocked by whatever was preventing her from going outside. She was starting to get really concerned when all the windows on the second floor were also blocked.  She ran up to the third floor when she heard a loud crash from down the hall. She stood there, at the top of the stairs, like a deer in the headlights until she heard muffled laughter.</p><p>	“Oh sure, laughter in an otherwise empty building, that’s not spooky at all!’ She whispered, hoping that no one else heard her. She tip-toed towards the office the noise was coming from. As she drew nearer, she noticed that there was more than just laughter. There was sobbing. Concern for herself shifted to wondering if this person was okay. She turned the knob slowly and pushed the door open.</p><p> </p><p>	And for the first time in 10 years, there was another person to hear Graham Folger scream.</p>
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